Brazil. Home of Noah’s beloved Adriana Lima.
I’m joking. No more bitter feelings about that comment since Tequila Talks was a few weeks ago. I’m more mature than that. Plus, Noah loves me. Back in the ballroom, he caught me off guard, looking excited to say those three words. Now he never goes a day without saying them.
Lying to my brother about my current whereabouts fills me with dread. I let him know this morning that I was flying to Brazil earlier than expected with Sophie, telling him we want to explore Rio de Janeiro together before the next Grand Prix. My lie isn’t too far off from the truth. See, I am in Rio de Janeiro…but I’m actually here with Noah.
Shocker. I know.
But we have a week off between the last race and the Brazilian Grand Prix. We came to the country early, enjoying the trip he planned. He shows me how he cares, doing sweet things that make me appreciate him even more. Like buying me one of every candy bar when I got my period and sex was off the table. Or how he made sangria when I felt homesick, which led to us getting drunk and playing another round of two truths and a lie.
I carry my camera around while we wander through Brazil’s streets, filming private moments of us. Nothing like the hustle and bustle of a big city. Noah shows an interest in my camera, asking people to take photos of us, claiming he wants memories of our first trip together. He hates every camera except my own. I can’t imagine being famous, not being able to enjoy fundamental privacy.
We both dress up, currently incognito because avoiding fans has become our new day job. I don’t want pictures of us out there on the internet. At least not identifiable ones, so I put myself in charge of the outfits.
“Is the fake mustache really necessary? It’s kind of itchy.” Noah scratches his face for the fourth time today. I hate to say it, but mustaches don’t suit him, especially not the handlebar kind.
“Stop your complaining. I’m the one wearing an Albrecht team shirt. They’re like the worst in the whole F1 circuit so I got the short end of the stick.”
His throaty laugh makes me chuckle along with him.
Noah taps the brim of my hat. “I told you to wear the wig instead. You refused.”
“It’s hot outside and wigs get scratchy.” I don’t even know why I bought that atrocity. It makes me look like a porn star, and not exactly the well-paid kind.
“We’ll have to save it for another day.”
Noah’s heated smile sends a shiver down my spine. He kisses my neck at the bottom of the Christ the Redeemer steps, people pushing past us, grumbling in Portuguese.
“You have lots of kinks. I’m not sure I would’ve agreed to this relationship if I had known all this beforehand.” I step away from him and give him a one-armed shrug. His sexual appetite alone leaves me sore for days because once is never enough with this man.
He smacks my ass while we climb to visit the statue. By the time we reach the top, my lungs ache and my legs wobble.
“You never look this sweaty after sex with me. Am I not working you hard enough?” Noah’s smile matches the mischievous shine in his eye.
I shoot him a half-assed glare. “Not all of us like to visit the gym at five in the morning. This is the most I’ve worked out all year.”
He shakes his head at me. “Don’t discount all the times I’ve fucked you. Better than any cardio you’ll do at a hotel gym.”
“Look at you solving all of my problems.” I genuinely smile up at him.
My phone rings, vibrating inside of my leggings’ pocket. I may not work out but at least I look the part.
“Let me take this. It’s Santi.” I walk away before Noah protests. He stays put, checking out the view while I sit on a bench.
“Hola, hermana. You forgot to check in earlier.” Santi’s voice carries through the small speaker.
My hand holding the phone shakes as uneasiness settles in my stomach. “Sorry about that. We got busy.” Not a lie per se.
“How’s the weather over there? Heard a storm may be coming in before the race.”
The sun shines down on me, not a cloud in sight. I hang out in the shadow of one of Christ’s open arms, which is ironic since I’m lying to my brother.
“Don’t worry about that because it’s bright and sunny here. You still have a few days before you need to come over anyway.”
“How’s little miss Sophie doing?”
“Good.” I choke on the word. “Hanging out at the famous statue before visiting Sugarloaf Mountain.”
I promise once this season is over, I will tell the truth no matter what. Noah tells me how much he wants to date me after the season ends. Hopefully, my relationship with him is worth the nausea I feel every time I lie to my brother.
“Well lucky you’re having a good time. Noah stood me up at a sponsor event, which meant I had to spend five hours talking to people by myself. I hated every second of it.”
My chest tightens. “Oh, no.” Wow, Maya. Please act less surprised.
“Yeah, no shit ‘oh, no.’ He acts tough and entitled, too good to pick up the phone and let me know he wouldn’t be saving my ass from dead-end conversations. But whatever, I survived.”
The three of us need another tequila bonding session.
“At least you love those types of events. Sucks he didn’t show.” Sucks he was in bed with me while you were schmoozing. I might as well shower in holy water to cleanse myself from my deception.
“Yeah, maybe for the first hour. But I can’t even take a piss without someone asking me a question about the season or my teammate.”
I laugh at the mental picture Santi paints me. “Well, I better get going.”
“Right. Your travel buddy has replaced me.”
Santi clenches a fist around my heart without knowing it.
I fight to get the words out. “Never, you’re always my number one.”
“I better be. Catch you later.” He hangs up the phone.
Noah grins at me from across the cobbled platform. I offer a weak smile and a small wave, taking deep breaths to ease the tension building in my head.
I hope all this worry is worth it because unlike Noah, I don’t welcome trouble with open arms and a kiss.
“You disappeared three times already tonight. You even abandoned me with Charles Wolfe. Of all people, that’s low, Maya.” Santi’s voice comes out whiny.
I shoot him a sweet smile and shrug my shoulders. He dislikes that sponsor, sharing how the guy gets drunk and has a preference for hugging it out. Brown eyes glare down at me with a hint of amusement.
“I’m sorry. I got distracted.” I bring my drink up to my lips because I have to keep my hands busy. If not, my nervousness will give me away.
“You’ve been more than that lately. I’ll have to talk to Sophie because she takes up too much of your time, making me feel needy and jealous.”
He fails to notice me choking on my drink.
Way to keep it cool, Maya.
He continues, oblivious to my internal struggle. “It’s getting out of hand. Give me my sister back already. We only have two races left and I barely see you anymore. Not even at the press conferences.”
“Well, those get boring. I almost fell asleep at one…standing up, I might add.” I don’t include how Noah had kept me up for hours the night before.
His cold gaze assesses me while he remains silent.
“I’ll spend the rest of the night by your side. I’ll even help you avoid Charles; I don’t think he likes me very much anyway.” I link my arm in his, ignoring how my throat feels like I chugged sand.
“You better. He hugged me twice, his sweaty face rubbing against mine. Feel pity for your older brother.” Santi winces.
I rub his arm in assurance. “Aw, poor baby. I’m here now and I’ll keep an eye out for him.”
Not soon after, Noah finds me again. But this time he frowns when his eyes land on Santi next to me. His eyes scream trouble. The delicious kind of trouble, but trouble nonetheless with my brother here. I subtly shake my head from side to side in hopes of discouraging his advances. His lips tip up at the corners.
“Noah, good to see you, man. It feels like you barely hang around these things. You missed Charles today. He hugged me.” My brother gives Noah the usual guy hello: hands shaking, backs being clapped.
Guilt eats me alive like a corroded battery in the pit of my stomach. How does Noah keep his face neutral all the time? I need to set up a meeting with Bandini’s PR manager because I can use some insider tips.
“Yeah, these events haven’t been doing it for me lately. Especially Charles. He’s a nice guy, but a bit touchy.” He smirks at my brother.
We both know what has been doing it for him lately.
Spoiler: it isn’t Charles or winning races.
Even though Noah wins most of the races anyway. Commentators think Noah may be the best of our generation and F1 history. Fans obsess over him, attending races with huge posters, some including women’s numbers. They line up for hours to get him to sign their stuff. Boobs not included.
My brother and Noah chat while I insert random comments that come off half-assed at best. Noah and his nearness distract me. His tux makes me lightheaded, the look of his roguish smile muddles up my insides. Thankfully Santi doesn’t notice anything. I’ll tell him soon enough because I can’t take the lying anymore.
Soon after, Santi and I call it an early night, wanting to get extra sleep before the qualifiers.
For the first time in a while, I stay with Santi because of his admission about being lonely. He does so much for me, and I lie to him, keeping a secret hidden that he should be aware of.
I don’t sleep a wink. Instead, I end up tossing and turning, never finding a comfortable position. Turns out sleep is for the innocent.
“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” my brother growls before taking another sip of his beer. Noah stares at us across the pit lane, smiling before turning back toward a man he’s talking to.
Noah sucks at keeping his cool. He’s already talked to us twice at this kid’s event, a kart race fundraiser for children with cancer. When Santi and I hopped in two karts, Noah decided to join, claiming he wanted to spend time with his teammate.
Preferably the teammate he spends his nights with.
And damn him for making my heart melt onto the pavement as he played with kids, throwing them in the air and catching them. A total dad move that makes my ovaries happy.
My brother stares at him, dark eyebrows tipped down as his fingers clench around his beer bottle.
He glances over at me. Crap. I forgot he said something in the first place.
“He looks at everyone that way. Don’t bother getting annoyed.” I take a sip of my water, wishing to chug Santi’s beer instead.
“No, he doesn’t. His eyes stay on you too long. I might tell him something because you’re my sister, and he’s a manwhore who needs to keep his hands to himself.”
My brother is about fifty orgasms too late on his threat.
“You’re making excuses because you want to like him, but you both have a dumb rivalry.”
Some may call it a stretch, but they bonded over tequila. If that doesn’t scream future friends, I don’t know what does.
He grumbles under his breath. “Thank God you’re not into guys like him.”
Should I be afraid of how often my chest constricts around Santi?
“Why?” I whisper.
“Do you really need another reason besides the fact that he fucks everything that walks?”
I fail to hide how my body cringes, but he misses it, too enthralled in glaring at Noah. Santi’s words stab at my armor and leave me bleeding.
“Well, people change. I don’t want to cast judgments when he’s been nice to me this season.” I tip my chin up and cross my arms. People can only walk all over your heart if you let them.
Santi lets out a bitter laugh. “This is one of the reasons I love you. You’re innocent and trusting of the world and the people in it.” His statement makes my heart deflate like a balloon.
“Maybe you need to trust your teammate more instead of looking for everything wrong with him. You can learn something from me.” Woah. I have no idea where those words came from.
Santi stares at me, unblinking and unmoving. He changes the subject after chugging the rest of his drink. But the air around us remains heavy, a dark cloud looming over me, guilt hitting me like hail.
